And So We Go Our Own Way

And so we go our own way
A path not trod before
Each bracken broken
A breaking new
We know this way to be our own way
Our own not known before
Each thought awoken
A thinking new
With light and might we walk our own way
Stealth of stride alone no more
Each slice of slight
Incite light new
And so we go our own way
But thanks
Thanks for this bit of street light
Given in your own way

Sunshine - For The Faintly Imperious

If ever we should doubt

The need to plot that course

To the promise of the promised land

If ever we should find out

About the judgements of The Bourse

Or of those groups which society banned

Step into the mud

Of the salt marsh

Or the estuary

Feel your feet sink

Your heart also

For what has slipped away

The wind, and sun

Will bring life

Where you thought love had perished

The night, the day

Both will replenish

And for that we can be grateful

 

About Turn - More Than A Socialist

This is no anniversary

Except it is my first day

Back in meditation

Oh yes, and the sun shines

In through my window

This then is the celebration

A time of presence

Formed by the muse of joy

As only morning sunlight

Is able to offer

Yesterday I read Tolstoy

As he talked of art

Of beauty, of love

Though not in an empowering way

Rather to dispute what others have said

I myself find

That art and love and beauty

Let alone nature

Fill my life with such wonder

That they offer a path to understanding

 

Sublime - To The Disdainfully Ridiculous

Nature is beauty

And that’s for sure

Yet man

With his miraculous jet engine

Which I was taught about

Indeed went on a school trip to see

As a teenage lad over fifty years ago

May be a worthwhile rival

At the moment though

To hear the noisy rattle and clatter

Of the recycle bin being wheeled back to base

Alongside my garden hedge

Makes me realise

That progress can be slow, if at all

Especially when ordinary men

And municipal councils are involved

 

Gardening Leave - Site Clearance

Outdoors

In March

In recovery mode

Still wheezing

Though slightly less of a cough

The pebbles

Are haphazard

And ragged

With grass growing through

Even in the shingle

It all seems less than imperfect

Although more beautiful

With the strong spring sun

And the clear blue skies

Even the jets, overhead, have a good rhythm